


Sabres and Starfighters

by Elendiliel



Series: Lightning Strikes [22]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Gen, Jedi as Found Family (Star Wars), Planet Onderon (Star Wars), Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29563284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel
Summary: Jedi Knight Helli Abbasa never expected to have six apprentices at once, but now that she does, she's determined to do a good job of teaching them. That might not be straightforward when their training keeps being interrupted by their other work, helping the people of Onderon resist Imperial occupation, though that does provide plenty of opportunities for putting that training into practice.
Series: Lightning Strikes [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Sabres and Starfighters

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I may have taken liberties with the speed of the Empire's technological development and the recruitment of stormtroopers. I can only plead inadequate data and the demands of the plot.

“Petro, keep your guard up. Katooni nearly had you there. Nice one, Ganodi. Zatt, you’re going to have to think outside the box, too, if you’re going to have any chance of beating her. Byph, excellent defence, but you need to attack too. I know it’s hard, but tiring your opponent out is a risky strategy, and not going to work on Gungi. Actually, you _both_ need to start taking the initiative a little more. Stalemate is not your friend.”

Jedi Knight Helli Abbasa paced around the three improvised sparring rings in the room that had been set aside for her, her padawans and her brothers to train. This was their first opportunity to do so since their arrival on Onderon and the start of these highly unusual apprenticeships, and she found it surprisingly easy to read the strengths and weaknesses of each young Jedi just from these one-on-one sparring matches. Petro was bold and had the makings of a powerful warrior, but his defence needed a _lot_ of work. Katooni tended to play it safe, but seldom hesitated to exploit her partner’s mistakes. Zatt was technically brilliant, but struggled to counter Ganodi’s habit of ignoring the rulebook and classical forms, and just going with her instincts. The move Helli had praised had been using the length control on her sabre to increase her reach mid-thrust, throwing Zatt’s timing off. Even Helli, known for her unconventional style, had never thought of that one. Ganodi was one to watch, but there were definite flaws in her basic techniques, which could undermine any more complex strategy she tried to build on them. Gungi was a decent all-rounder, but swung between overconfidence and hesitation too often for his new teacher’s liking. Up against Byph, though, it was less of a problem. As Helli had noted, he was skilled in defence, but too gentle to strike back. She sympathised, but knew she had to teach him to overcome that enough to survive and protect others.

One by one, the matches ended. Katooni took advantage of one of Petro’s wild swings to reach his unprotected throat; Ganodi finally broke Zatt’s guard with a combination of a classic Form V attack and a side kick she must have picked up from Padawan Tano, who had been responsible for these then-younglings for a while, sending him sprawling to the ground; Byph, to Helli’s mild and concealed surprise, came out fighting at last, knocking Gungi’s sabre out of his hand and bringing his own to his friend’s chest. At a signal from their master, all six returned to ready position, Ganodi helping Zatt up, and focused their attention on her, waiting for her full appraisal and advice.

Helli took a mental deep breath and braced herself. Time for the lecture she knew she had to give, the one that she had heard first as a child less than half the age of her new padawans, not yet a youngling, but already aware of the difference between her and her peers. Her natal people, the Picti, might be dedicated to peace and the preservation of life, but they were also pragmatic enough to teach their children defensive, non-lethal combat techniques very young. Helli had brought that attitude and those skills with her to the Temple, and like every Jedi knew she had to pass on what she had learned.

“You all have the potential to be remarkable duellists, but for the foreseeable future none of us are likely to use our sabres openly. Trust me, I’m as annoyed as you are about that. We’re going to have to find other ways to fight, other ways to do our duty and defend those who cannot defend themselves. It won’t be hard. Any fighting style, with any weapon or none, needs three things. Focus, precision, timing. Without focus, your defence is going to have gaping holes in it, and your attacks will be easy to avoid. Petro, that’s where you’re going wrong. You know your general objectives, but don’t focus on what you and your opponent are actually doing. If Katooni weren’t going easy on you, that fight would have been over in half the time. Without precision, you’ll waste energy on unproductive strikes, and your blocks won’t be as effective. And when someone’s actually trying to kill you, there’s no margin for error. You need to conserve every bit of your energy, at least until you have a good idea of your opponent’s capabilities, and any injury will slow you down. Ganodi, while you may have won your match, you could have been a little more efficient about it. And as for timing – Petro, could you come here and help me demonstrate, please?”

Petro complied. Helli drew her own sabre and ignited one blade, turning the power down to sparring level. Seeing once more the style she had “chosen” for the design – Duty and Resolve – helped steady her in the face of the daunting task of making these six children into true Jedi and not the Jedi-clone hybrid she feared she was starting to become. Banishing these thoughts to the back of her mind, she faced Petro and adopted a guarding stance, which he emulated.

“The importance of not moving too slowly should be obvious. In attack, your strike is easy to block,” she illustrated her words with an exaggeratedly slow thrust that Petro parried without any trouble, “and in defence, you risk injury or worse.” Petro, without prompting, initiated the demonstration this time, and she forced herself to delay her reaction, almost letting him reach her heart area. “But if you strike too quickly,” she accompanied the last word with a snake-fast slash as Petro returned to ready stance, hitting the edge of his sabre, “your precision is likely to suffer, and your opponent may block you by accident. And it leaves you unbalanced and often wide open for a counterattack. Block too fast, and you may -,” as Petro took his cue again and lunged for her neck, and she deliberately brought her sabre up even faster, only catching the tip of his, “miss. Or waste energy you can’t spare. Don’t try to move quickly; don’t try to move slowly. In fact, don’t _try_ , because that implies doubt, and in a life-or-death situation there’s no room for doubt. Just move at the _right time_. I know it sounds difficult, but it will come in time and with practice. We have an advantage in that the Force is our ally, but never take it for granted. Even the greatest masters spent hours every day practising and meditating, listening to the Force rather than ordering it around. That’s what _made_ them great. Now, there are two other things that every fighter needs – can any of you guess what they are?”

“Courage?” This, in Shyriiwook, was from Gungi. He had plenty of that, and it was useful, but not the answer.

“It’s a start, and of course essential for us as Jedi to overcome our fears, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Compassion?” Katooni had named another key attribute for a Jedi, but again not the one Helli was after.

“Wrong track entirely, I’m afraid. I asked about _fighters_ – not necessarily Jedi.”

“Knowledge.” To Helli’s surprise, this was not from Zatt, as she had half-expected, but Ganodi. The Rodian girl really was a dark fathier.

“Exactly. The way of the warrior is the way of knowing. And I don’t just mean the forms and techniques, although they’re useful – and something you need to work on, by the way. But the most technically perfect strike, focused, precise and beautifully timed, is useless without the knowledge of how best to apply it. Know yourself, and know your opponent. Really _look_ at how they move, how they react, which techniques they favour, which areas they defend and which they leave less well guarded. If you know anything else about them, use it. And match up your own strengths to that. There’s one other thing necessary for every warrior – can anyone tell me what it is?”

“Discipline.” Byph had clearly been thinking this over. He didn’t really need her previous lesson; Helli had seen that he already knew instinctively how to gauge an opponent, physically and mentally, and adapt himself to suit. It was just that he preferred to apply those skills to diplomacy rather than combat. But he also knew what every Jedi had to learn sooner rather than later.

“Precisely. Especially for us. Without discipline, techniques unravel, focus is impossible, precision suffers and timing goes out of the airlock. And Force-sensitives are left wide open to the chaos of our passions, vulnerable to the Dark Side, without any of the control that makes the Sith dangerous. Learning and maintaining it is a lifetime’s work, but I can see you all know how important it is, which is the first step.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” came an unexpected voice from the doorway, where its owner, a clone soldier with substantial cybernetic enhancements throughout his body, now stood, “but Fives just called in. He wants two more pairs of eyes over in the western quarter. Some new Imperial installation.”

Echo’s arrival had flipped a switch somewhere in his sister’s brain, shifting her from Jedi Knight to squadron commander. “Did he say what it might be?” Fives and Spark were on a reconnaissance expedition to assess the extent and speed of the Empire’s annexation of Onderon; Echo had stayed behind as their point of contact.

“Some kind of hangar, he thinks. It’s right next to the civilian spaceport, anyway, but he wants a second opinion – and someone who can talk their way in for a closer look.” Fives was getting good at solving problems without resorting to his blaster – given the circumstances of his first death, that was hardly surprising – but he and Helli both knew that she was better still, having been trained for it most of her life, while he was bred to fight.

Helli ran her eyes over her padawans, deciding which one she wanted to take. “Ganodi, I think this is up your street. Get changed and meet me downstairs in five minutes. The rest of you, go through your drills and patterns for another hour, or until we get back, whichever is sooner. Echo, mind supervising them? Just make sure they stay on task and don’t hurt themselves or each other too much.”

“I can do that. And I’ll send the coordinates you need to your comm now.” Hel’s comm, built into one of a pair of rather showy bracelets, doubled as a holographic projector. “Spark checked in as well. He’s keeping an eye on what looks like it’s going to be a comms centre and tower, over to the north near the palace, but he doesn’t think it needs your intervention just yet.”

“Excellent. Thank you. I take it you’re keeping Gerrera in the loop?” Saw Gerrera was supposed to be the field commander of Onderon’s embryonic rebellion, but he had a tendency to go off on his own. Hel rather thought _he_ would benefit from one of her lectures.

“Of course, and I wish he’d do the same. Last I heard, he and some of his old friends were making a recon of another new build, just outside the city to the north-west, but I haven’t heard anything since.”

“Well, keep me posted, and I’ll do the same. I’ll see you later.” Hel left the room and headed for her broom cupboard of a bedroom to change into her street clothes, which balanced Onderon fashions with the practical demands of her calling, and should be nicely inconspicuous, even with her comm-bracelet on her wrist. Job done and ears hidden under her headscarf, she met up with Ganodi and they made for Fives’ location at a brisk but non-obvious pace.

Fives, true to _his_ training, had held his position on a low rooftop overlooking the target building throughout the half-hour it had taken him to call for backup, Echo to convey the message and Hel and Ganodi to reach him. Hel, knowing his hair-trigger reflexes and her own silent way of moving, made sure she extended her awareness towards him in such a way as to alert him to their presence without startling him. In the field, this was generally a necessary precaution, especially since his first death and the trauma that followed (and preceded) it, made easier by his long association with multiple Jedi. Jedi and clones tend to rub off on one another over time.

“What do you make of it?”, Hel asked as she and Ganodi took up scanning positions either side of him and examined the new structure. It had a prefabricated, ultra-efficient look to it, and really didn’t go with any of the other buildings within the spaceport. They were designed to fit the rest of Iziz’s architecture; this was designed to impose itself on its surroundings. The old symbol of the Grand Army of the Republic, now adopted by the Empire, adorned (in a very loose sense) the doors.

“Going by the placement and dimensions, and the uniforms of everyone going in or out, I’d say it’s a hangar for small spacecraft. Fighters and shuttles. The doors are too small for a freighter or a corvette, let alone a cruiser. They must have worked overtime to build it. I overheard someone saying it wasn’t there two days ago. I’d like to get a look inside, but security is tight.” He was correct. There were stormtroopers patrolling the area, and two on guard duty outside the main hangar doors. The IR setting in Hel’s macrobinocs showed her more sentries inside. The Empire wasn’t taking chances. There might be other entrances, but breaking in would attract too much attention from the hangar personnel. This was going to be tricky, but they _needed_ to see what was in there.

“I think you’re right on all counts. And the faster we get this intel, the better. First question: give it a go now, or come back later?”

“Now, I think.” Ganodi had joined in. “It feels like the right time.”

“You’re right. If we get caught breaking in after dark, that wouldn’t end well. This isn’t Gerrera’s kind of operation, and Echo and Spark can’t leave their posts. It looks as though it’s up to us, and we might as well get it over with. Good thinking, kid.” Fives’ tone on the last word was crammed full of affection.

“Thank you.” Ganodi fell silent, scanning through her own macrobinocs. Hel privately doubted she had consciously thought the matter through in so much detail. Of all her apprentices, Ganodi reminded her most of herself at that age – quiet, intense, deeply compassionate and empathetic, and as intuitive as she was smart, but not yet as confident as she should be, except on matters about which she was passionate. Speaking up at all had been hard, she suspected.

“Now, how do we get past the guards?” Hel chewed her lip for a few moments, running through possible strategies.

“Well, they’re not clones, which will make things easier.” Fives, like Hel, had changed his appearance since going renegade. His hair had grown out and been dyed blond, while coloured contacts rendered his eyes pale blue and makeup lightened his complexion and hid his tattoo. But if any of his clone brothers recognised him – and there was _no_ disguising his build or bearing – the cascade of conclusions about Hel and Ganodi could well be unstoppable, and fatal. Stormtroopers didn’t have that programming. Just short tempers and trust issues, a lot of the time.

Ganodi was looking pensive. “If we acted like a family – might they believe us? Sorry, it was just a thought.”

“We _are_ family.” Hel and Fives had been as good as brother and sister for years, and Ganodi was like a daughter to Helli already. “But I see what you mean. And it’s a good thought. In fact, I think it might just work.”

“Oh, come on. We’re all different species, and you’re only nine years older than her.” Fives wasn’t remotely convinced, and had two good points, but not good enough.

“They might cancel each other out. Cross-species adoption isn’t unknown here. And you know as well as I do that physiological, chronological and apparent ages can all be different from each other.” Hel wasn’t quite twenty-two, but Order 66 and her new cosmetic abilities had added at least ten years to her face, and Fives was technically thirteen, physiologically twenty-seven and apparently in his mid-thirties. With a bit of effort, they could pass for an unconventional but not suspicious nuclear family.

They nearly looked the part already. Fives handed his blaster and other recon gear to Hel, who stashed them in her pack/shopping bag with her and Ganodi’s sabres, then found, deep in a pocket of her pack, a simple gold band that looked like a wedding ring. It was surprisingly hard to slide it onto her finger and complete the illusion that she was Fives’ wife. If she had made a different choice, that night on Coruscant, Torrent might have put a ring like this on her finger, and meant it. But that wouldn’t have been wise. They would have had to hide their relationship so carefully, for a start, and that didn’t sound like a recipe for a happy marriage. And the conflicts between their duties as Jedi and soldier and their obligations as husband and wife could have had disastrous consequences. No, she had chosen the correct path, but it still hurt. Fives saw that, and slipped his hand into hers, holding it reassuringly. He and their other brothers knew about her and Torrent, and understood, but would never say anything.

That closeness served them well as they wandered, apparently aimlessly, through the crowds flowing through the spaceport. Fives and Hel had their arms around one another’s waists, and Hel’s other hand was threaded through Ganodi’s. They drew a few curious looks, but no suspicious ones until they reached the hangar. Technically, they couldn’t be sure what expressions the stormtroopers wore behind their helmets, but their body language wasn’t hard to read.

“This wasn’t here last week,” Hel remarked airily to her “husband” as they meandered towards their target. Fives addressed one of the guards in an equally offhand manner. “What’s happening here?”

“None of your business,” one of the guards snapped. The other was friendlier. “It’s a hangar for the Empire’s new fighters. They’ll be flying patrols soon. Keeping you all safe.” Well, now they _had_ to see inside.

Ganodi thought so too. “Can I see them?” She gave the guards her best cute-little-girl look – not hard, for her species. Only her “mother” knew that she despised having to act like this. Hel sent her a pulse of sympathy. She’d had to do the same in her time, not all that long ago.

But they both had roles to play. “Sorry about my daughter. She’s mad about flying.”

“Daughter?” The first guard didn’t sound convinced.

“Adopted. Long story.” Fives’ tone shut down all further enquiry. Again, the second guard seemed more understanding. “Ah. Right. The war left a lot of children without parents. You’re good people for helping her out.” In a sense, he was exactly correct. Hel didn’t like deceiving him, but there was no other viable option.

Ganodi piped up again. “Can I see inside? _Please_?”

“You’ll see them soon enough.” The first guard followed up his statement with something under his breath about “blasted xenos”. Hel had heard that already from other stormtroopers. When the pressure of her and Ganodi’s hands on one another’s increased, it was hard to tell who had applied how much.

She turned her own charm to maximum. “Just five minutes. She’s twelve years old. How much harm can she cause?”

“Well…” The second guard was weakening under Hel’s smile and Ganodi’s eyes, but his comrade was not. “We have our orders.”

Just then, the doors behind the two guards slid open and a clutch of technicians came out, busy talking to each other about professional matters. Probably against regulations. If there were a listening device nearby – like, say, the one in the charming young woman’s bracelet – any competent engineer, Spark or Zatt, for example, could gain some potentially vital information from their careless chatter. They shut up as soon as the first guard glared at them, but the damage was done.

In more ways than one. Ganodi had taken advantage of the distraction and the open doors to duck into the hangar. Perfect timing. The part of Hel that would always be a warrior admired her padawan’s skill and instincts. But the rest knew she had to follow – to play her part, to complete the mission, and to keep an eye on her young student.

“Gani!” Hel called out as she dived after her errant daughter. The guards tried to stop her, but ran up against Fives. He hadn’t been promoted to ARC trooper and the 501st’s part-time third-in-command for nothing. Hel just registered him holding the first guard’s arm in such a way that any movement would cause agony and probably damage, and his deceptively gentle voice saying, “If you try to go after them, or shout for help, I will break your arm. They’ll be out again in a few minutes. My daughter just wants a quick look around, and she’s been through enough lately without people like you pointing guns at her.” Again, her inner observer approved of his careful bending of the truth. He _did_ think of her apprentice as his daughter, she _had_ been through a lot thanks to the Clone Wars, and they _did_ just want a quick look around. With a still-active scanner on Hel’s arm.

That scanner was hopefully picking up plenty of intel on the starfighters that filled the hangar. Hel hadn’t seen anything like them before. The main body of each one was spherical, with two hexagonal solar panels attached, one on each side. How was that design remotely aerodynamic?

She put such speculations to one side. Ganodi had run into trouble with a patrol further in. Clones, by their armour. She didn’t think she knew them, and they certainly wouldn’t know Ganodi. To most humans, one Rodian looks very much like another. And these clones still bore the markings of the late Master Adi Gallia’s battle group, not the 501st or 212th, which Hel knew Ganodi had come across. But Master Gallia would _not_ have approved of her men’s attitude towards a young girl, even an intruder. Ganodi, still playing the little-kid card for all it was worth, was backing away from the two armed men, babbling apologies as they demanded to know what she thought she was doing.

“I might ask the same question!” Hel’s outrage as she strode towards them, pseudo-aristocratic self-confidence on prominent display, was entirely real. She had a follow-up prepared about how Senator Bonteri would hear about this, but it wasn’t necessary. Ganodi took full advantage of the distraction, landing a punch on a weak spot in the nearer clone’s armour, at the hip where torso-armour met leg-guard. Focus, precision, timing – they were perfect. The man reeled backwards into his companion, and they both went down. Before the shocked soldiers could recover, Hel had grabbed Ganodi’s hand and they were halfway back to the main door.

Fives was still holding the guard in a painful lock, disguising it as a friendly arm around his shoulder. He let go as he saw his “wife” and “daughter” approach, speedily but unharmed. “See, I told you they’d be out soon. Everything OK, Gani?”

“Fine, Dad.” Ganodi’s calm tone was belied by the way she clung to her “father”. Which was genuine and which feigned, even her teacher wasn’t sure. His affectionate smile as he put an arm around her shoulders, however, was entirely real. “Come on, let’s go home.”

They were silent as they walked back to the safe-house, despite Helli dying to discuss what they had seen, or congratulate Ganodi on her combat skills. Without revealing what she was, she had, with only a little help, got out of a very sticky situation in a single strike. Her focus, precision and timing had all been spot-on, and she must have plenty of knowledge of clones and clone armour to have pulled it off, or have deduced the weak spot from observation. She needed a shade more discipline, perhaps, but who didn’t? Yes, Ganodi was one to watch, whether her or her opponent’s weapon were a sabre or a starfighter.


End file.
